


Slow Burn

by tjmystic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Curse Memories, F/M, Real Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2710949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjmystic/pseuds/tjmystic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle and Gold both have their memories in Storybrooke but can’t act on them lest they tip off Regina</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Burn

Slow Burn  
sydnam prompted - the song “Slow Burn” by David Bowie; Belle and Gold both have their memories in Storybrooke but can’t act on them lest they tip off Regina

Rating: NC-17

 

SMASH! SMASH! SMASH!

Mr. Gold shot up from his bed, hands fisted in his sheets and sweat beading his brow. His eyes, wide and alert, scanned his room, adjusting to the dark as he hunted the source of the noise. But nothing was there – as always, he was alone. 

Then the slamming sounding again, and he understood – the noise was outside. 

Silent, he shifted his legs off the side of the bed and stood up. One hand reached for his cane, the other for the gun he kept in his nightstand. Storybrooke was a town of routine, schedule, indifference. For someone to call on him this late, in his house no less, when no one else ever had surely meant something sinister. 

Gold hugged the wall as he crept downstairs, quiet on the steps despite his cane. Not that it would have mattered – any noise he might have made would’ve been buried under the constant banging. The moment he turned onto the second landing, though, he was at least able to locate the source. From that vantage point, he could see straight through his kitchen to the back door, shaking wildly against the frame as if someone were trying to break it down. He grit his teeth. Whoever it was was too scared to come to the front door, and that meant they wanted blood. 

That didn’t narrow down the list of potential trespassers. 

Carefully, he crossed the last steps to his door. The banging went on, muffling the sound of him cocking the hammer. He took a deep breath, and flung the door wide. 

“Ooomph!”

A wet, scraggly mess of a girl fell into the room, clutching the frame to keep her balance as she shook in too-high heels. Her blue mini-dress was tattered and at least as wet as she was, her pantyhose slashed and her hair matted and tangled. Matted, tangled, and brown, nearly auburn hair made of ringlets and waves. 

He knew that hair quite well.

Before he could stop himself, Gold’s hands shot out to pull the girl to her feet. She warbled out an apology, almost too faint to make out, but he caught it all the same. It occurred to him that she might be drunk, much as she was scrambling. He bit his tongue to keep from cursing his own stupidity – of course she was drunk. She’d probably been running shots with the boys at the pub all night. Hell, she’d probably done more than drink if he was being honest with himself. Cigarettes and pot were par the course, judging by the way she always smelled of smoke when he came to collect her father’s rent. And it wasn’t that much of a stretch to imagine her fucking the boys at the bar while she was at it, even if she was more well-known as a tease than an actual slut.

That was just Lacey’s way.

The thought made him grit his teeth. But it also calmed him. Reminded him of their roles. He was Mr. Gold, she was Lacey French. He was the town’s feared pawnbroker and landlord, she the town’s own skank. The only interaction they ever had was on Friday mornings when he came by her father’s flower shop Game of Thorns to collect payments and she cursed him all the way down the street for being a cheat and a robber. He was the only man she never seduced, because she hated him. And he didn’t care. If they shared anything, it was the glares they gave in equal measure to Madam Mayor when she purposely spied on their little routine, a smirk marring her red lips. They were nothing more, together or separately. 

Which didn’t begin to explain why she was here. 

He coughed, and let his hands drop from her sides. She shook when his support left her, as if she might fall all over again, but he refused to feel guilty for it.

“Miss French,” he sneered. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She mumbled something, and his glare deepened. 

“Pardon, dearie, I didn’t quite catch that. Frog in your throat? Cat got your –?”

“Rumple.” Her voice was little more than a whimper, soft and shaking, but it made him fall silent all the same. “Please.”

Her words pulled a switch. Instantaneously, his demeanor changed, shifting from dangerous annoyance to frantic concern. In less than a second, he had her pulled into the kitchen, the door at her back slammed and barred shut. He allowed himself only a cursory glance at the backyard from his window, his fingers clenched as tightly as ever around his gun. Then the blinds, too, he snapped together. 

“Belle,” he hissed, dragging her into the dark recess of the hallway. “What are you doing here? If anyone saw you, if Regina found out, you know what could happen. You know we can’t do this.”

Belle – and there was no use in pretending that she was Lacey anymore, even when she was dressed the part – nodded her head in agreement, but the look on her face said she hardly registered his words. She was still shaking, still damp, and he realized with some confusion that it hadn’t been raining when he opened the door. 

His brows furrowed. “Belle?”

She snapped up her head at her name, and even that small of a movement made her stumble. This wasn’t like her. She was clumsy, always, but never like this, not even when she’d been drinking. Again, his hands reached out to catch her, taking in her glazed eyes and raw skin. And his worry only increased when he touched her shoulder and felt bare skin – one sleeve of her dress was ripped through, revealing her slightly crooked bra and an imprint that looked like someone’s fingers. A man’s fingers. 

Stomach roiling, he set aside his gun and clutched both of her arms instead. 

“Belle, what happened?” he murmured, rubbing small circles with his thumbs against her skin.

She jerked, but whether it was meant to be a yes or a no he couldn’t tell. 

“K-Keith,” she stammered. “Nottingham, him. He… he picked me… he picked Lacey up, at the bar. He slipped something into the drink. I don’t know. He followed me to the docks, I fell in when he tried to… but I got away. I… I’m sorry –”

His arms were around her in a second, pulling her into his chest and stroking soaked dress. She whimpered at his throat, nuzzling him much as a cat would, and he cursed low into her hair.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she mumbled. “I know we can’t get caught, I know, but – but I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I’m sorry, Rumple.”

He soothed her with a kiss to her temple. “Shhh. It’s alright, Belle, it’s alright. We’ll figure something out. I’m just glad…” 

The words, I’m glad you aren’t hurt, rested on the tip of his tongue, but he bit them back. Whether or not she’d gotten away this time, there was no arguing that she wasn’t hurt. And it would’ve been even more unbearable to say considering he was the one who’d put her in this wretched position. 

“I’m glad you got away.”

She heaved, shoulders shaking against his slight frame. And yet, her arms wound around him even tighter, holding him to her like a ballast, like a lifeline. A part of his soul, a tiny fragment untainted by guilt and deception, beamed at the touch. It was wrong, perhaps, particularly when she was hurt and they were already in trouble for her even being here, but the feel of her pressed against his body grounded him like nothing else could. 

Still, though, she shook, no matter how long or how tight he held onto her. Her soaked dress seeped into his shirt, his very skin, making him shiver from the cold, too, and he realized that, yet again, he’d allowed his selfish nature to hurt her. All too soon, he forced himself to let her go.

“We need to get you out of these clothes,” he murmured, a wry grin painting his lips – how often had he wished he could say those words to her under different circumstances? “You’re drenched.”

Belle tried to smile back at him, but her teeth chattered too much for her to truly manage it. “A-a-at least we know I c-can still swim.”

He snorted. “Aye, that we do. Come on, let’s get you upstairs.”

Gentle, he moved his hand up from her hip to her shoulders, using his grip to guide her through the kitchen. Bum ankle and all, he was still sturdier than she was at present, and that meant he would have to take the lead for once. If he hadn’t been trying so hard to seem calm for her sake, he might have thrown something – Nottingham would pay for what he’d given her.

It took them the better part of three minutes to reach the top floor, hobbling as they were. Plenty of time for him to realize that this was the first time Belle had actually seen the inside of his house. It was small, but he still felt stung by that. He’d always hoped she would see this house when the curse broke. When they could be together in peace, and look at each other without fearing repercussions. 

When they could be Belle and Rumplestiltskin, not Lacey French and Mr. Gold.

But he pushed his regrets aside – she needed him right now, and worrying about a lost first impression was the last thing he needed to do. 

Instead, he focused on pulling her into the bathroom, bracing his cane sturdily against the tiles to keep them from slipping. He turned on the lights, then immediately dimmed them, seeing how Belle’s foggy eyes blinked and watered at their brightness. She’d have a headache in the morning, that was certain. At least that was something he could fix, though – thanks to his foot, he had plenty of pain medication laying around the house. 

Still brushing her hip, Gold lowered her onto the toilet seat cover, bending awkwardly to maintain his hold on her. She was wobbly even sitting down, and that definitely ruled out a shower. To be honest, he wasn’t really sure she could handle a bath – in the state she was in, she might sink into the water and pass out. But she was freezing cold, and still shivering, so he had to do something. He just had to be careful. 

Reluctantly, he moved her hand from his shoulder to the towel-rack behind her. 

“Hold onto this,” he said softly. “Just for a minute while I get the water ready.” 

Belle nodded, barely perceptible as much as she was shaking, and did as he asked. The stand rocked for a moment, but she didn’t seem to notice, still blinking groggily and toying her fingers with the hem of her dress. He pretended that that was a good thing and turned to busy himself with the tub.

A touch to the faucet had hot water pouring out onto his hand, all but scalding him. He didn’t mess with it, though, instead piling it with as much flowery bubble soap as he could find. The heat would do her some good. And, besides, she’d always claimed to love hot baths when she worked at the Dark Castle. It wasn’t much, not hardly enough, but any amount of comfort he could offer her, he would. For the first time in their relationship, he had to be the strong one. And it might be the last, for a good while, that he would get to treat her like an angel instead of a whore. He’d make what he could of it. 

Behind him, something dropped to the floor. For a sickening second, he worried that it was Belle, even though he knew the noise wasn’t nearly heavy enough. It didn’t help that the first thing he saw when he turned around was her gnarled, wet dress. But her body wasn’t attached to it. He looked up just in time to see a pair of sodden underwear, flimsier than anything he knew even existed, fly by his face. 

Flushing red, he looked away again to turn off the faucet. 

“It’s ready,” he muttered stupidly. “Do you… you need a hand?” 

She didn’t say anything, and he couldn’t see her nod, but he did feel when she slipped her shivering hand into his. Air caught in his lungs, choking him. Somehow, though, he managed to guide her to the edge of the water. 

He diverted his eyes, and, after hearing the plop of water that meant she was in the tub, ambled away.

“Where are you going?” she coughed. 

“I’m getting you some tea,” he mumbled, purposefully refusing to look anywhere but the doorknob. “You need something warm to wash the drugs out of your system.”

She was still shaking. He could see that much in his peripheral. But he refused to look any closer – she needed to be taken care of, not lusted after. She’d had quite enough of that for one lifetime, he thought. He was just keeping her safe from him. 

He angled his body away from the door, and started to hobble downstairs again. 

“Rumple, wait!” she pleaded. 

He froze, one foot in the air. “Yes?”

“Could… could you stay with me?” Her voice tapered off. Against his better judgment, he allowed himself to look up from the door and into her eyes. She looked so small and fragile in the tub. “I – I don’t want to be alone.”

His foot stayed in the air. This was a bad idea. She wasn’t thinking clearly – she was still drugged up, intoxicated and impaired. Whatever decisions she was made right now were not good ones, as proven by the fact that she’d showed up at his doorstep at all. He needed to go downstairs and make her some tea.

But he’d forgotten to stop looking at her. She still looked so tiny, covered in bubbles and up to her neck in hot water. She looked so unlike herself that it burned him. He’d do anything to see his Belle strong again. 

He sighed, and shut the door behind him. If Regina had seen them, they were already in trouble. One more mistake wouldn’t make their load any heavier. At least, that’s what he told himself as he jerked his head “yes” and perched himself on the edge of the toilet seat.

Below him, Belle gave him the closest thing to a smile she could manage, and burrowed into the bubbles.

They sat in silence for a long minute, her wallowing in the steamy water, him watching her now that she was safely hidden under the foam. He hadn’t noticed before how thin she’d gotten. Not good thin, sickly thin. It made sense, if he thought about it, considering that Lacey purportedly drank her suppers. And lunches. And breakfasts. He might have brushed that thought away as another rumor had he not known that Belle could hold her liquor. He wondered if that was another problem they’d have to take care of when the curse finally broke. 

She was still trembling, too. He really should’ve gotten her some tea, or at least some sort of sleeping medication to take her jitters away. As it was, he had to sit there and watch as she failed again and again to hold onto the bar of soap. After the sixth time, she tried to cradle it in both hands, and it was clear that she was just seconds away from falling apart.

Before he could stop himself, he reached forward and took the soap from her hands. “Here, let me.” 

Her hands fell to her sides, splashing the arms of his pajama top. He didn’t care. He only had eyes for her, nuzzling her head briefly into his palm and whimpering, “Thank you.” 

He caressed her curls just long enough to prove to himself that she was real, that this was real, then grabbed a washcloth from cabinet in front of him. It had been years, too many to count, since he’d given Bae his baths in their little hovel, but he still remembered the mechanics. He just had to be careful – there was a very finite difference between washing his son and bathing the woman he loved. 

He took a deep breath, and set to work.

She was thankfully silent as he ran the cloth over her face, wiping away the caked-on foundation from her nose and forehead. He held the back of her head as he worked, cradling her so she wouldn’t fall back into the water. But neither of them spoke again. This was the longest he’d sat with her in years, and that wasn’t something that could escape his notice. Even in her addled state, he was sure it hadn’t escaped Belle, either. The way she was staring at the wall, glassy-eyed but nervous, told him he was right. She didn’t even notice the eyeliner running down her face, or the wet rag caressing her back.

It was too much. If he didn’t have to be strong, if it wasn’t his responsibility to clean her mess instead of having her clean up his, he would’ve broken down in her arms.

The first time he saw her after that morning in his dungeon was also the first day of the curse. He’d been walking to his shop, mind on deals and antiques and whatever else Mr. Gold tended to think about. But, for some reason, he’d felt compelled to look across the street toward the library. That’s when he saw her. Alive, and dazed, in a much too short black dress and high pumps. 

It was all he could do not to drop his cane and collapse. 

Regina kept Snow and her Prince Charming apart by the mere fact that the latter was in a coma. He knew that, because it was his magic she’d used to make it happen. If she’d left him awake, there was a chance, a very strong chance, that they would’ve woken up to the curse together. And that’s exactly what happened with him and Belle. The moment she looked across the square and saw him, too, he knew that she remembered. Regina should’ve known better than to think his own magic would affect him and his True Love. 

They met in the back of his shop a few minutes later. He’d raced in – or tried, considering his cane – and she’d foolishly followed. She didn’t know the repercussions. But he did. The moment he saw here, though, standing so close to him, so real, so alive, he couldn’t help himself. He fell to the floor in front of her, and held onto her so close that his face brushed the skin of her thighs. He sobbed that he’d thought she was dead. She kissed his hair and told him she knew there was a reason he never came for her. They both admitted that they loved each other. For a moment, they were just two people in love, coming together after so many years apart. 

But he was still Rumplestiltskin. He still knew how to play a game. And this game had dire consequences if they lost. 

He told her everything he could in the scant hour they had together. Their curse memories still oozed behind their awareness, and they both knew how their schedules were meant to unfold. He had to open his shop. She had to start getting drunk. That was the thing he emphasized the most in that short time they had together. They were Mr. Gold and Lacey French only – no one, especially not the mayor, could suspect otherwise.

No one would suspect, because he was the one who’d decreed it. 

She understood, of course. His girl was a genius, more brilliant than him on a bad day than he was at his best. But it didn’t make it any easier. There was still so much unresolved – she was alive, and he was the one who’d created this mess they’d gotten themselves into – and they separated knowing it would have to stay that way. Regina was malicious – he’d trained his student well. If she knew that there was even a shred of happiness between them, she would crush it under her heel. So they had to be miserable. He promised her that twenty-eight years would slip by easily, that the curse would mess with time so much that it would feel like little more than a week. He promised her that, when the Savior came, they could finally be happy and put this all behind them. He promised that they could really get to know each other on their way to find his son. 

He was beginning to think that he’d break those promises to her. Years had passed, and he felt them, and the Savior still hadn’t arrived. They saw each other every day, but a kind word never passed between them. They’d only kissed twice – that dreadful, beautiful first time by his spinning wheel, and again when he finally came back to himself in the shop. And then he made them both promise that they wouldn’t kiss again until the Savior came for them. They wouldn’t touch again, or smile at each other, or love each other, until they were safe.

It made sense to be angry with her, even disappointed now that she might’ve cost them their elaborate ruse. It made sense, because having her in his house was a risk he couldn’t bear to take. Losing her once was agony. He couldn’t lose her again. 

But all he felt was emptiness. Sadness. Hatred. 

And every last inch of it was directed at himself. 

He should never have let any of this happen. 

He bit his cheek till it bled, the only punishment he was capable of for now, and ran his soapy hands from her face into her hair. 

“I can’t do this.”

Gold blinked, distracted from his musings. “What was that, sweetheart?”

“I… I can’t do this.”

He sighed. The water from the rag dripped down her back. “It’s too late for that now. The damage is done,” he answered monotonically. “If Regina saw us, then she saw us – we’ll just have to figure up an excuse.”

He dropped his hand, soaking it and the cloth once more. Before he could touch it to her skin again, though, Belle clasped his wrist and stopped him. She was shaking worse than before. 

“No.”

Warily, he let the washcloth fall into the tub. A thousand useless platitudes he could use to comfort her, all about how everything would be fine and he was just overreacting, bubbled up in his throat. No matter his arguments earlier, now that he’d held her again, he didn’t want to stop. If he could say something that would let him touch her a little longer, even in such a detached, clinical manner, it would be worth it. 

But his words fell short when he lifted his eyes to see her. Tears covered every inch of her face. And she was shaking her head “no”. 

His breathing slowed. Dread filled the pit of his stomach. “Belle?”

“That isn’t what I meant,” she whispered. His hands clenched – he knew what was coming now. He knew, because he’d had imagined it every night in his fears. And sure enough, when she opened her mouth, the next words that fell out were, “I meant this. Us. I can’t do it anymore, Rum.”

She looked up, letting him see her head-on. He wanted to see her, always wanted to see her, but he snapped his eyelids tight, shutting out the vision of her crying eyes. It was too late, though – the image was scored into his memory. A cannon could’ve gone off and he wouldn’t have heard it. Not over the vision of her shattered gaze, nor the sound of that last beating part of his heart cracking into pieces.

“You don’t mean that,” he wheezed. “She’ll be here soon, I know it. The Savior will come and this will all be over. Please, just a little longer.”

“No, I do mean it.” He could feel her whole body trembling from just the hand she still held to his wrist. “I can’t keep doing this.” A low sob rent the air, and damn them both but he couldn’t tell who had made it. “Night after night, I dress up in those… awful clothes, and get myself drunk, and play games with people I can’t… I can’t stand. Do… do you even know how many men I’ve kissed, Rumple?”

He snapped open his eyes, shaking his head every bit as desperately as she had been. It was less to tell her “no” then it was to beg her not to tell him. 

Belle showed him no mercy.

“Seventy-four.” She stilled, choking on the words as if she was going to be sick. “Seventy-four, at least. I… I lost count after the first year. I think it was the first year.”

Bile rose up in his own stomach, gagging him. “Belle, stop. I’m … I’m so sorry, please –”

She yanked her hand away, and his heart finally shattered. She was in his bath, just a fingertip away, and she was already gone. Already farther away then she’d ever been from him before. How had he not known how much this would hurt? At least when he thought she was dead it had been final. At least he had eventually felt numb to all the pain. 

This… knowing she was here, and close, and alive, but no longer willing to love him… this was agony. 

And then she coughed on her tears, and it only felt worse.

“I try not to think about it. I do, but, it’s… it’s so hard. When I… I can still taste them,” she spat out. “I can… oh gods, I can feel their hands on me. I beat them off every night, and it gets a little harder every time. I can’t… I can’t be brave like this, Rumple. I dread every day. And… I don’t even remember what it’s like to kiss you. So many other people, but I’ve only kissed you twice. And it hurts. It hurts –”

Sobs enveloped her, dragging her down into the water as she wound her arms around her body. Desperation tore at him, pushed him forward, and he climbed into the tepid water and wrapped himself around her. He knew his touch wasn’t welcome, knew he was probably just hurting her more, but she was breaking, and there was nothing else he knew to do for her. He didn’t even notice his soaked clothes.

“Shhh,” he soothed, stroking back her damp hair. “Don’t cry, Belle, don’t cry. It’ll all be fine. It’ll all be over soon, I promise.”

She heaved forward, shivering and sick, and it was all he could do to keep his own tears at be. She didn’t need to know that he was broken. She needed him to be strong. If it killed him, that was more than he deserved. 

His Belle – and she would always be his, he swore to himself, even if he was no longer hers – mumbled something into her hands as she collapsed wearily against his chest. The wet material of his pajamas stuck to his skin, but he couldn’t be bothered, tugging her closer to him anyway and continuing to pet her hair.

“What was that, sweetheart?”

She sniffled. “I want you to take them off me.”

He stopped his hand in her hair. “What are you talking about?”

Trembling, she turned about in his arms. Her face was red, her eyes puffy. She was still the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. 

She moved her mouth, but the words behind it choked in her throat. Careful, he put his thumb on the tip of her chin and lifted her head, eyes focused on her and only her. Belle ducked, and he cursed at himself for taking such a liberty when he should’ve known better. But instead of pushing him away, she moved until his finger rested on her lips. The touch killed him, but when Belle sighed, shoulders finally relaxing, he tried to believe that he was somehow helping her.

“Take them off me, Rum,” she repeated. “I want you to touch me. Make me forget what they feel like.”

Belle wasn’t the only one who was shaking now. “Belle. You… you don’t… I –”

“Don’t tell me I don’t want this,” she hissed. “And don’t tell me we can’t. I know I’m not thinking straight, I know that. But I also know that I need you, now. I love you so much, Rumple. Just let us have this.” Tears pricked the corners of her eyes again, but she kept going, clutching him closer and closer with each word. “All I ever wanted was to belong to me. Me, and you. And all I feel like is that I belong to everyone… everyone else…”

That did it. Before he could stop himself, before he could think better of it, he pulled her into his lap, and kissed her like his life depended on it. Maybe it did. 

“Rumple,” she sobbed, catching his bottom lip between her teeth. 

“Belle. Belle, listen to me.” He pulled away from her, breathing her in, feeling every inch of her body. “No matter how many men you’ve kissed,” his lips touched her forehead, “how many men you’ve touched,” her cheeks, “how many men you’ve fucked,” her nose, “you will always be mine. My Belle. And I will always love you.”

“Then show me,” she pleaded. “Just for tonight. Please, I love you, too.”

That was really all she had to say.

Growling, he pushed her back into the water, cradling her head so it wouldn’t smash into the porcelain tile. His knuckles rapped them instead, providing a strange balance to the warm, soft woman in his arms.

No longer caring what he saw, he hauled her onto his knees. Her shoulders peeked out from the bubbles, and he wasted no time in sucking the new flesh into his mouth. Above him, Belle keened, and below, she roiled. A low curse left his lips. They really were doing this.

He tore away his mouth and again pressed it to hers. “Bed,” he begged. “I won’t… I can’t do this to you here. You’re worth so much more than this.”

Her hand rose from the suds, brushing through his hair and caressing his temples. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open – between the sensation and the knowledge that, yes, he was finally going to make love with his Belle, he felt like falling apart. And while she didn’t look happy, not quite, she was smiling at him. 

“Because I’m yours?” she teased, wrinkling her nose like she used to at his castle. “Is that why I deserve more?”

“No.” He hated himself for it, but he stopped her from the delicious attention she was paying to his mouth. She’d meant it as a joke, he knew, a snide comment to make him laugh, but even then, he couldn’t let her say things like that. He stared hard into her eyes until she’d stopped blinking. “Everything that belongs to me is lost, or ruined, or completely destroyed. I never wanted that to happen to you, but it already has, just because I wanted you. You… Belle, you deserve more – than this, than me – because you’re you. You’re Belle.”

A soft noise left her throat. She didn’t stop looking at him, though. Not even when tears beaded in the corners of her eyes. Dread built up in his stomach that he might have ruined this moment, too. Then Belle’s entire face brightened, a real, true smile painting her lips, and nodded her head. He let go of the breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

“Okay,” she agreed. “Bed.”

This time, he smiled, too.

Unsteadily, he picked himself up on his feet, bracing one arm against the wall so he could lift Belle, too. He tried to keep his eyes on her face, but, at end of the day, he was still little less than a man. And, moreover, he was desperate for her now. It was the first time he’d ever seen Belle like this. Her Lacey costumes left little to the imagination, true, but that little was enough to keep him up at night. Now, here she was, completely naked before him, water and suds pouring down her skin and leaving it slick. She was thin enough that he could see her ribs. And she was still the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen.

Her body shivered, either from embarrassment or the chill of the air. With a gulp, he reached around her and took a towel from the rack. She made a grab for it, but he held it out of her reach, smirking at her for only a moment before kneeling at her feet. His ankle ached in protest, but he ignored it, lifting Belle’s soaking foot into his lap and drying every inch, from toe to heel, with the cloth. She giggled when he brushed her arch, the first time he’d heard her do so in years. He swore to himself that he would make her laugh always once the curse broke. She needed more of it in her life.

Allowing himself to grin, he finished with her other foot and swept the towel up to her knee. Her breath hitched, but, when he looked up at her face, he saw that she was still happy.

“I thought you said we were going to bed,” she smirked.

He swatted at her knee, making her laugh yet again, and he reveled in it. “I can’t have you soaking my silk sheets, dearie. And besides, I rather enjoy the view.” 

She blushed at that, from her hairline down to her breasts. He was sure his own face echoed it – he’d never realized that a pair of nipples could look so delicate.

He coughed. “On the other hand, you make a very strong argument.”

Ignoring both their reddened faces, he stood once more to his feet, wobbling only slightly thanks to his ankle. Belle, too, seemed to have stopped shaking for the time being. He couldn’t remember ever being more thankful – the drug was starting to wear off. She would be okay. 

He didn’t pause – if he did, he knew his insecurities would take over. Instead, he took her hand, holding her tight just in case her jitters returned, and led them to his bedroom. The sheets were still a mess from where he’d jumped out of bed earlier, but, otherwise, it looked fine. He would’ve preferred candles, and roses, having the chance to undress her for himself so she would feel loved instead of used. But he banished the thoughts from his mind – tonight would still be perfect if only because it was just the two of them. 

It did surprise him, though, that it was only 11 o’clock. He’d thought it was much later. 

The caress of bare skin against his neck made him twitch, effectively drawing his attention away from the clock. Belle’s fingers sat on his shoulder, playing with the longer tendrils of his hair. He wanted to keep his eyes open, to keep staring at her while she combed, but it was too much. He’d never been touched like this before. 

“I want to see you, too,” she whispered.

A shiver ran the length of his spine. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Her hand stopped. He imagined that she would pull away, acquiesce to him without question. But she was Belle, and, of course, that didn’t happen. 

She turned him around so they were facing, her eyes boring into his now instead of the other way around. “Rumple, you don’t have to worry about me. It isn’t anything I haven’t seen before.”

He glared – yes, there would be hell to pay tomorrow. Every man who’d ever even thought about laying a hand on her was in for a surprise when he got ahold of them. He bit his tongue and shook the thought from his head – tonight was supposed to be happy.

“Which is exactly why I’m worried. Man or not, I’m still not exactly nice to look at. Especially in comparison to others.”

Her hand was back at his neck. But she didn’t touch his clothes, and she didn’t look away from his eyes. “Can I be the judge of that? 

Why did she have to look at him like that? Why did she have to be so honest, and pure, and wonderful? There was nothing sinister, or proud, or wrong in her eyes, even though they were still just a little bit foggy. She was nothing but honest, and wanting. For him. 

With a groan, he dropped his arms, and nodded his head. 

She didn’t give him any sort of victory sneer, which he was immensely thankful for. Belle had never been like any of the others, always much too kind and considerate, but the fears were hard to chase away all the same. He wondered if it was the same for her – if she had to unwrap him herself to defeat the terror that plagued her mind. 

The loss of his first button brought him back to reality. Her entire focus had shifted down to his shirt, trying to undo the blasted thing while her hands were still twitching. She’d stuck out her tongue in concentration, biting it down as she smoothed his silk top down to the third button. He wanted to lean forward and take that bit of pink flesh into his mouth. Instead, he gripped her waist tight enough to leave bruises. 

Soft hands spread his shirt wide, parting it in the middle and baring an expanse of tanned skin. Pigeon-chested, he’d always thought of himself. But, somehow, Belle seemed to disagree. Miraculously, her eyes were dark and dilated when she reached out to caress his pectorals. His whole body shivered. 

“You know, I haven’t… I haven’t actually done it all. All of this, I mean,” she stuttered nervously. “The men, at the pub, they mostly just want my hands. Or my mouth. I figured that, so long as I play the part, Regina doesn’t have to know how far I go.”

Her nails traced down to his navel, and his eyes fluttered shut. Thank the gods for small comforts.

“I get to be your first,” he murmured in awe. “Belle, this –”

“Shhh.” Her other hand joined the mix, curling around his waist just above the band of his trousers. “I just want to think about this right now. Just us.”

One little finger slipped below the elastic, and he was lost. Cursing, he yanked her towards him, crushing his mouth against hers and working her lips until she moaned. Her leg curled around his good one, giving her leverage to rub up against him, and, for the first time, he realized how unbelievably hard he was. Every touch from her electrified him, and made him poke even harder into her thigh. He groaned, but never stopped kissing her. This was about them. Just them.

With no small amount of effort, he backed them onto the mattress, laying her out beneath him on the scattered sheets and crawling on top of her so they could keep kissing. He couldn’t get enough of her mouth. Their second time in his shop was too short for him to marvel at this blessing, that he could kiss her and not have to worry about the consequences. He could suck on her lips, lick her tongue with his own, mouth at her until they were both lightheaded and dizzy. He still wanted to make her laugh when this damned curse finally broke, but he thought he might have to interrupt it with as many kisses as she could take.

“Rumple,” she moaned into his mouth. She bucked into him again, making them both hiss with pleasure, and he saw as her eyes rolled back in her head. Gods, she was lovely. “Rumple, I can’t… I can’t wait. We… we can do this slow later. Eventually. Please.”

He wanted to disagree with her. He wanted to tell her again that she deserved to be taken care of, worshipped. But then she gyrated down on his cock, leaving a hot, damp spot on the very tip of it, and he was blown. They could do slow when the curse broke. For now, she just needed him. 

Nodding vigorously, he withdrew his hand from her back and ran it down her side. She was still trembling, but not at all like she had been before. This was good shaking. He was doing something right. Grinning, he curled his hand into her thigh, spreading her open for him as much as he could while she was still riding his leg. His fingers brushed her opening, just enough to make sure she was ready for him. He felt like his head would explode – she was just as warm, and wet, as he’d always dreamed she’d be. He wanted to spend hours here, touching her, tasting her, massaging her until she saw stars. But then Belle’s hand held the tip of his cock, and he knew she had other plans. 

“Please, Rumple. I… I want you in me. Now.” 

He couldn’t argue with that even if he wanted to. More quickly than he had any right to with a bum ankle, he ripped the pajama bottoms from his legs, letting them land in a sodden heap somewhere outside the room. Belle gasped at the feel of him, lined almost perfectly with her opening, and he broke their kiss just long enough to mutter, “Fuck!” He wasn’t going to last – this was already the best experience of his life.

“I love you,” she told him. “No matter what happens, I always love you.” 

When he blinked, he felt water in his eyes. He brushed them away on the pillow behind her, though, returning at once so he could see into her face – now wasn’t the time. “I love you, too,” he repeated, broken. “And I’m going to show you.” 

She gave him a brilliant, toothy smile that sent his heart into overdrive. It was the only signal he needed.

Slowly, so slowly that he could almost feel each of his vertebrae unfolding, he placed the tip of his cock into her lips, and pushed forward. Her body arched off the bed, a low hiss leaving her lips, but she never stopped looking at him. Her lips worked at his jaw, reminding him to stay in the moment, to enjoy this while they could. His eyes watered, and not at all from sadness this time. 

“Hold… hold onto my shoulders,” he rasped. “And my hips. Curl… around. As much as you can.”

She did as he asked immediately. Halfway inside her, he could feel the slide coming easier, helped by the pressure of her feet prodding his arse. He wanted to shout – it was already too much. But he held on, hard, digging his fingers into her back as he eased in the rest of the way. His balls clenched, and he could feel them tugging at the skin of her labia.

“Gods,” he howled. “So good, Belle, so good, fuck.”

Her hips gyrated up just another inch, letting him feel the delicious scratch of her curls above his cock. If his eyes weren’t already shut, they would’ve rolled into the back of his skull.  
“You… you feel good, too,” she whimpered. “You’re… wide… wider, than I expected.” 

Teeth caught on his jaw, nipping into the skin almost hard enough to hurt. He was more focused on watching the sweat bead up at her temples. She wasn’t lying, he marveled – this was honestly good for her. 

Making sure to keep his eyes open this time, he pulled out of her, letting the thick skin of her labia convulse around his base, and thrust in all over again. Belle shunted up the bed in response, still wrapped around his body like a vise, and moaned his name. It was incredible – how could it be this good?

He did it again, a little quicker, this time, barely allowing the skin to catch before plowing back inside. Her head arched back, and he wasted no time in taking advantage of her distraction. He’d wanted those breasts in his mouth since he’d seen them, and now he had the chance. She didn’t want to feel anyone else on her? Fine – he would imbed himself so firmly in her skin that she’d have no hope of remembering anyone else. 

He’d picked up a rhythm now, holding the back of her thigh with one hand and her neck with the other, pounding into her as hard but slow as he could allow himself. The tip of one nipple dangled over his tongue, brushing up against it with every thrust, and he couldn’t help himself but moan into the taut, pink flesh. Delicate was too simple a word to describe them. Her nipples were like sugar roses, a treat he’d only gotten to have once in his lifetime. The memory seeped through his skull, though, as he brought the little bud between his lips and suckled. 

She shouted his name, a high-pitched sound that had his cock tightening inside her. Fuck, she felt delicious, tasted delicious, everywhere, all over. He didn’t have any hope of making this last. 

Gods, he hoped the Savior came soon so he’d get another chance.

“Give… give me your hand,” he stammered, the words muffled by his tongue still toying with her breast. “Please, Belle, it’s gonna happen, fast.” 

She nodded above him, her chin bumping into his hair, but he didn’t care. Her hand came to his, lacing their fingers together so easily that might’ve been doing this forever. The thought brought tears to his eyes, and, this time, he let them fall onto her skin. He imagined that he heard them sizzle on the heat of her skin. 

Tremulous, he dragged their hands down to the place they were joined, caressing first her hip than his as he settled their fingers between them. Belle’s eyelids flickered – she knew what he was up to, then. 

With another thrust, he wedged their index fingers into her skin, pressing them both into the fat little nub above her lips. She groaned his name, the sound echoing in his bones, and spurred him on faster he pushed their fingers close. 

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he begged. “Come on, love, come on. This is your memory. This is the one you get to keep. Come on.” 

Those words did it. With a high, breathless scream, she tumbled down around him, muscles shaking, cunt tightening, until all he could see were the bright blue spots of her eyes. His own orgasm shot through him like lightening, cutting him to the core as he pulsed inside her again, and again, and again. It wouldn’t stop – he was going to fill her to the brim, implant himself just as firmly as he’d promised to.

Her thighs clenched around him one last time, and it was over. 

Seconds, or minutes, or maybe hours later, he rolled over her body, dragging her with him so that they lay side-by-side. Her chest was heaving, breasts brushing tantalizingly against him. Had he been a younger man, that would’ve been enough to get him going all over again. But he resigned himself to kissing her face, whispering “I love you”s and “you were amazing”s into her skin. She deserved more, and always would, but he would give her the best of him all the same. 

“Rumple… thank you,” she whispered. “That… that was better than I could’ve imagined.”

“Aye.” He nuzzled her cheek in agreement. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to close his eyes and wrap around her until the both fell asleep. But he had other things to do. The wind whistling outside was a reminder of that.

Exhaling, he allowed himself one last sweep of her breast, then backed away until he could swing his legs off the side of the bed. He looked over his shoulder, worried that Belle would be upset, but she was still grinning that wonderful, dazed smile. He never wanted to see anything else. 

“I’m going to stay tonight. Not all night,” she amended, no doubt seeing how his eyes widened in surprise. “Just until I feel like I can stand without shaking.”

He nodded, however reluctantly. Having her stay here, even after all they’d done, was more of a risk than he felt comfortable taking. But she was right – if she left now, the risk was a hundred times greater. 

And if the thought of her naked in his bed was too much of a temptation, well… that was less punishment than he deserved. 

“Alright. Don’t leave until I get back, either.” He noticed her confused look, and offered her the best smile he could manage, running his fingers across her legs in reassurance. “I have to run damage control. Make sure no one saw us. I won’t have the best night of my life ruined.” 

Belle giggled at that, just as he’d hoped she would. 

Sticky and aching, he hefted himself off the bed and into his closet. He hadn’t collected Granny’s rent for the week, if he remembered correctly, and she and Ruby stayed up until well after midnight. Wolf blood, he thought, smirking – curses couldn’t get rid of everything. It would be a good enough reason as any to venture into the town, and make sure that no one suspected a thing. He didn’t know if Belle could take it if Regina knew. He knew for a fact that he couldn’t. 

He slid the closet door shut, grabbing a spare cane from the corner as he did, and marched back into the bedroom. He was leaning heavily on the handle, more because of the ache in the back of his thighs than his ankle, but he was sure no one would notice the difference. 

Belle, however, certainly noticed something. The look she gave him wasn’t quite amusement, but it was close enough to make him smile. It seemed he needn’t have feared – his Belle was unbreakable.

“What on earth are you wearing?” she snorted.

He looked down again at the ridiculous shirt, a wry grin tilting his mouth. “The only clean thing in my closet. Must be one of Regina’s jokes, make me wear a tablecloth when all my suits are at the cleaners.”

“Oh, then the joke’s on her. You look quite dashing.”

He couldn’t quite believe her – it was hard to when she was so very obviously trying not to laugh at him. 

Like before, he flicked the skin above her knee, sending her effortlessly into quiet chuckles.

“Very funny, dearie,” he sneered, knowing he looked about as menacing as a house fly. The raucous giggles that followed more than confirmed that fact. “I’ll just be gone a few minutes. Will you be alright?”

She nodded, snuggling deeper into his blankets. “Perfect. I could sleep for days.”

“Good.” He pretended that his hands hadn’t started shaking again, and that there wasn’t a hint of fear in her voice. The moment he walked out the front door, their happy memory would be over. He had to make the most of these final seconds. “I’ll bring you up some tea when I come back, and then we can come up with a plan.” 

Again, she nodded. This time, though, she curled in close to him, and kissed the juncture between his thumb and forefinger. “I love you, Rumplestiltskin.”

His heart swelled. “And I love you, too, Belle.”

He leaned down, kissing her soundly on the lips once more. The wind outside echoed the roaring in his ears, but he stamped it down, focusing all his attention on the beauty below him. They would figure this out. They would make it.

Neither of them noticed the yellow Beetle that pulled onto the road below.


End file.
